


Blues and Greens

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: A wager ends up with both Gibbs and Jack winning.





	Blues and Greens

**Author's Note:**

> I have gone through so many of these Human Resources things that I had to write one for Gibbs. Coupled with an idea of wanting to see how Gibbs and Jack would interact when their military ranks came into play (and mostly putting Gibbs back in his Marine Corps blues), this is what we've got. 
> 
> A few things:  
> Jarhead- derogatory term for Marine  
> Puddle Pirate- derogatory term for Coast Guard  
> Jet Jockey- derogatory term for Air Force  
> Trench Monkey- derogatory term for Army  
> DNIF- Duties Not Including Flying  
> Ground Pounder- A few meanings, one of which is a derogatory term for someone in the Air Force who isn't a pilot  
> Grand Old Man (of the Marine Corps)- respectful acknowledgement, by a Marine, of the oldest Marine in the unit. Disrespectful when addressed by other branches of the military  
> ASU- Army Service Uniform. They have been officially blue since 2015, but I figured Sloane would still wear green.  
> Gibbs' ribbons- check out this site https://tinyurl.com/yy5c7ju7 and scroll down to "Awards and Citations" to see what has been established in canon for him. (I'm fairly certain Sloane has the Army equivalent of most of those ribbons, including the Silver Star, but since it hasn't been mentioned, I've sort of side-stepped it.)
> 
> No beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

…..

“No,” he said, his voice flat and firm. “No. I'm not doin’ it.”

“Yes, and yes you are.”

“C'mon, Leon. Department’s got nothing better to do than send agents out on an Easter egg hunt?”

“It's a team building exercise,” Vance corrected him. Allowing a measure of sympathy, he said, “It's not up to the department; it's an HR mandate to go with your annual review.”

“Could be worse,” a voice chirped from the door. “Could be your annual audit.” Both men turned to the visitor, one with a scowl, the other a smile.

“Jack,” Vance greeted, “good of you to join us. You might as well get in on this- your participation is required as well.”

Her brows went down. “Participation in what?”

“The Easter egg hunt.”

Vance side-eyed Gibbs. “The team building exercise mandated by HR.”

The brows went back up. “Oh, that sounds like fun!” She saw Vance’s mouth twitch and stole a glance at Gibbs. “I mean- why don’t you tell me what it’s all about, Leon?”

“Yeah, Leon,” Gibbs drawled, “why don’t you tell us what it’s all about?”

Ignoring the deadpanned snark, Vance tapped a folder on his desk. “HR is bringing all investigative branches together for a bit of friendly competition.”

“All branches?” Gibbs asked. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Guess they figured they’d try something new.”

“So NCIS, CID, OSI and CGIS?” Jack marvelled. “That _is_ unusual. And not enough vowels for a good Scrabble word.” She grinned despite Gibbs’ scowl.

“Agonising.”

She looked off to the side. “No, I don’t think so. No ‘a’ and only one ‘g’.” She snapped her fingers. “‘Discoing’. Twelve points!”

“Was thinkin’ more of the exercise, but okay. At least you’ll be on my team.” When Vance coughed, Gibbs’ slowly, incrementally turned his head. “Leon?” It was a question and a warning.

Knowing the safest route with his agent was often the straightest one, he replied, “HR thinks it’ll be a good opportunity for the different branches to work together. Teams of 4 will be made up from each branch.”

Gibbs’ head fell back and he sighed. “Great. Surrounded by ex-Puddle Pirates, Jet Jockeys and Trench Monkeys.”

“Hey!” Jack objected. “ _I’m_ a Trench Monkey. _Jarhead_.” The air went out of the room, likely because Leon inhaled it all with his shocked intake. As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she wanted to take it back, but Gibbs’ deathly stare only made her stand taller. “And, you know something? If we’re going to play that game, remember, I outrank you, so a little more respect wouldn’t kill you.”

Gibbs stepped forward, silently pleased she stood her ground. “Ya want me to salute you?”

She took a step closer. Considering the question and visualizing the image, she realized that, yes, she wouldn’t mind seeing Tall, Glowering Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs touching an eyebrow in deference. 

Before she could condense her thoughts into a single word, he smirked. “Never gonna happen.”

As was often customary when it came to the man, her mouth opened before her brain engaged. “Oh, it will.” Without looking away, she said, “Leon, I’m assuming there’s some kind of competition involved in this team building exercise?”

His eyes went back and forth between the two equal yet different forces of nature, and it was her finger snap that made him realize she was talking to him. He coughed to cover his lapse. “Of course. By the looks of it, it’s some kind of case-solving exercise. Team that solves it gets a week off. With pay.”

“Right. So here’s the deal, Cowboy. When you lose, I want you to salute me.” When he rolled his eyes, she poked his chest. “In full blues. Chest candy. Everything.” Her fingers brushed softly across his heart and she stopped a sigh from escaping her lips at the image. She poked him again to make her point and disguise her wistfulness.

He gave her a cocky half grin, partly because of the audacity of the challenge, partly because he suspected there was more going on in her head than a simple dare. “Okay,” he agreed with a nod. “Deal. But when you lose, you bring over whatever you have left of that Kentucky whiskey. I know you’ve been hidin’ it.”

“Deal.”

“In your ASU. The Greens,” he clarified. “Not the cheap blues ya stole from the Marine Corps.”

By the murderous look on her face, Vance figured it was a good time to step in. “Okay, done deal. Which means the two of you will be in Glynco on Saturday morning, oh-nine-hundred hours.” He flipped open the folder and handed out two envelopes. “Your tickets and your itinerary, along with a more detailed description of what’s expected. What _I_ expect is for both of you to do this agency proud. Understood?”

Jack took the envelope and nodded. “Understood.” With a lifted chin, she took one last look at Gibbs. “Gunny.” 

Before he could pry open his pressed lips, she was out the door.

…..

The only thing that made him actually show up was the idea of seeing Sloane in her ASU. That, and Leon’s threat of a week’s worth of desk duty. So with his mind on more of the former than the latter, he listened to the fresh-faced college student cheerfully ramble on about character-building and team trust. Even Jack found it difficult to feign interest, if her discreet eye roll when he caught her attention across the room was any indication. He had to look away before his grin grew into a laugh. 

“... so with all that being said, let’s have some fun, okay? The object is to work together as a team to find the killer.” Fresh Face stage-voiced. “You were each given a coloured envelope when you signed in. That will tell you what team you’re on. Please open those now.” The sound of tearing paper filled the room. “You’ll find three things of interest- first and most importantly, there is a small piece of paper. On it, you will find one clue about the killer. One of you will discover you are the killer. Obviously, you can share the first bit of information with your teammates, but keep the paper to yourself. If you’re not the killer, then it’s business as usual- work together to figure out who it is. If you are the killer, it’s your goal to not get caught. Which explains the second thing you’ll find. A simple LED button that you’ll strap to your upper arm. If we can do that now?” He waited until everyone followed suit. “It can be deactivated by a push or a laser pointer.” Fresh Face held up a device similar to what was in the envelopes and pointed it at his arm. The light immediately went off. “If your light goes off, you’re out. Just find your way back to this room. Killer, you can either hide- which isn’t very sporting, is it?- or you can eliminate your investigators.”

Gibbs wondered how many dead people Fresh Face had actually seen. There was something painfully obtuse in the kid’s cheerful tone. Oblivious to Gibbs’ silent ire, Peter (or was it ‘Patrick’? Gibbs tried not to squint at the ‘Hello! My name is’ sticker.) continued.

“Each team will start in a different room on a different floor, to give each of you time to formulate a plan.”

“Then what?” someone piped up. “We just wander around the building guessing?”

Peter smiled. “No. To help you along, there are clues in random rooms. Some more obvious than others. You really should only need 10 clues to put it together, and you’re starting with 4. Seems pretty simple.”

“Says the kid who just got his driver’s licence,” the man beside Gibbs side-whispered. 

Based on the colour of his envelope, Gibbs knew they were teammates. “Air Force?”

“First Lieutenant Wayne Chisolm in a previous life. Special Agent now.”

Gibbs held out his hand. “Special Agent Jethro Gibbs.”

Chisolm tilted his head. “Marine sniper. I’ve heard of you. Pleasure. So what 2 jackholes are we stuck with?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like the one in the clown shoes and the one with the hat.”

“I know the court jester. Brian Briggs. The ‘B’ Man. Army. Don’t know the other one.”

As people started chatting, Peter held up a hand. “Hold up, hold up. Just want to make sure we’re clear- the goal is for the investigators to catch the killer, and the killer to avoid being caught, but what we’re really here for is to have fun and explore what it takes to be a teammate, even when you don’t know who they are. Okay,” he said, “let’s find our teammates and get started.”

It took a minute for everyone to gather in their groups, and it seemed to surprise Peter at how quickly the task was completed.

“Jesus,” Chisolm groaned.

“Oorah,” Gibbs replied under his breath. He took in the man on his right, glancing down to his shoes and back up again.

“Brian Briggs,” the man introduced with a toothy smile and a set of dimples Gibbs already disliked. “United States Army.”

Gibbs nodded but didn’t return the handshake. “Special Agent Gibbs. NCIS.”

“Toby Miller,” the fourth member said, noting the lack of handshake, so offering none. “Which, by process of elimination, would make me the Coast Guard. Gentlemen.”

Wayne Chisolm introduced himself, then looked around. “The faster we get this done, the faster I can start my week off. What’s next?”

Gibbs smiled at the man’s focus which was so in line with his own. “My paper says ‘Room 3’. That about right?” They all looked at their paper and nodded. “Great. Let’s do this.” 

As the groups dispersed, Gibbs and Sloane shared a wink that wasn’t missed by Briggs. “Who’s the hot blonde?” he asked.

If Gibbs had even the tiniest measure of guilt about what was going to happen next, a set of dimples immediately removed all doubt.

…..

Once in the room, they all looked around. 

“Should we search the room for clues?” Miller asked, eyes scanning corner to corner.

Chisolm shook his head. “Nah. Let’s put our own clues together. We might be able to figure it out with the 4 we got.”

They gathered around a small table and pulled out their paper. Each man laid a piece down and bent closer to read the clues. Gibbs put his hands on the shoulders of the two men on either side of him and watched Chisolm lean even closer. The man’s discovery coincided with a deep sigh that told Gibbs everything. Standing straight, Wayne closed his eyes and shook his head when he saw the laser pointer in Gibbs’ hand.

“Shit.”

Miller and Briggs looked at their buttons.

“God dammit!” Briggs cursed. 

Miller shrugged and pulled out a chair. Resting his feet on the table, he said, “This is the best team-building exercise I’ve ever done!” With that, he tugged his hat down over his eyes and promptly went to sleep.

…..

“Where’d you serve?”

Jack avoided eye contact with the pilot who had been slowly getting under her skin since the teams dispersed to their starting point. 

“Afghanistan,” she replied. “Listen.”

Todd Kingston, who had politely introduced himself as former Marine, tilted his ear in the direction of her gaze. “I don't hear anything, Ma'am.”

She had to grin. Kingston was 2 years out of the Corps and it showed in his code. She corrected herself- she knew of another Marine who had been out of the Corps longer than this young man had been alive, and the code was still strong.

“That's what I mean. It's awfully quiet, isn't it?”

“Administrative duties?” Air Force asked, ignoring the question and enjoying her silent ire. 

Summoning up the last ounce of patience she had, she pasted on a false smile and sweetly asked, “Let me guess. Your call sign is ‘Maverick’ or ‘Iceman’.”

“He’s not even ‘Goose’.” The Coast Guard- Brian something- chuckled. “I got a cousin who used to be stationed with this guy. DNIF. Couldn't get off the flight deck, could ya, Ed?”

The agent frowned at the slight, annoyed that the needling had turned around on him. “Politics. Got passed over because of affirmative action.”

The other men groaned at the excuse and Jack couldn't let it slide. “Military promotes on merit, not minority.”

“You would say that, wouldn't you?”

“Whoa!” Kingston said. “As promising as this dick measuring contest is, shouldn't we be working together to solve this?”

Ed blew out a snort. “Please. It's a waste of time. Go solve it if it means that much to you, Jarhead.”

Jack held out her arm to stop the Marine's advance. “Let it go, Todd.” 

Though her words were soft, she shot a dagger at Ed. It was one thing for her to use the word; it was quite another for some cocky Fly Boy wannabe to use it. Kingston acknowledged her efforts with an appreciative nod.

“Sorry ‘bout the dick comment, Ma'am.”

“Rule 8, Marine- don't apologize.”

Brian looked around. “So what do you suggest, Army?”

She glanced at the Coast Guard. “If we want to win this, we're going to have to split up. Search our floor, regroup, go from there.”

It only took him seconds before he agreed. “Sounds good. Why don't you take the Marine and start down the end?” He jerked his chin to the left. “I'll take one for the team.” His eyebrow arched in Ed's direction.

Jack touched his arm, careful to avoid the LED button. “You're saving a life today.”

Brian laughed, full and genuine. “Remind me of that when he stabs me in the back.” To his sulking newly acquired partner, his tone turned flat. “Let's go.”

…..

When they turned down the wing of the building, Kingston suggested they take either side of the hallway, and she knew she had made a mistake when she lost sight of him. She had focused more on her search than her partner and she had gone through 3 rooms before realizing she hadn't seen him. 

“Shit,” she whispered. Cautiously, she retraced his steps and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw him sheepishly sitting in a chair.

“Ma'am.” He tilted his head towards his arm. The LED light was off. “Sor- I mean, my apologies. Stepped into the room, didn’t clear behind the door. It was over pretty quick.”

Her shrug was her forgiveness. “Any chance you can tell me who it is?”

“You know I can't do that.” His eyes bored into hers, reminding her of another blue-eyed Marine who could impart messages with a look. “Brotherhood and all.”

Unable to react to his grin, she flashed one of her own. “I understand. It was pretty much as I suspected, anyway.” She scanned the room, and for the first time noticed every single one had a connecting door. “Through the doors.” 

Though it was more of a statement than a question, he nodded. “And there’s an emergency exit in the first room at the end. I suspect that’s standard for every floor, at every end.”

“That’s how he’s getting floor to floor. Sneaky.” She hummed her admiration. “Okay. You should probably get back to the start point. I’m betting you won’t be the only one there.”

“I’d be stupid to take that bet.” He stood and grinned again. “You know, there’s a part of me that won’t mind if we lose. Good luck, Ma’am.”

Watching him leave, she began to formulate a plan. 

…..

Feeling confident she knew the ‘killer’, she found no reason to search the rest of the floor, and instead, returned to her team’s room. She stopped in the doorway.

“Where’s Brian?”

Ed scowled at her from the corner. “Where’s the jarhead?”

“First,” she said, stepping into the room, finger pointed with menace, “you call him that again- or any Marine that- and I will see to it that you’re reassigned to your old flight deck, with a toothbrush and a bucket. You got that? Second-” She paused, momentarily losing her train of thought amid her tirade. “I asked you first.”

With some false bravado, Ed snarked, “He got pulled into a closet in one of the rooms. I booked it outta there.”

“The closet?” she asked. “The killer was in the closet and your first instinct is to run away?”

“Hey! I didn’t run. I walked with intent.”

“Intent on running,” she said lowly.

“Look, it’s stupid team building bullshit, not real life. Had I had a gun, I would’ve apprehended the suspect in the closet. As it was, the killer could’ve been pointing his laser at me and as I soon as I opened the door, bam!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you do this, dumbass.” She covered her light with her hand.

The tactic clearly didn’t cross his mind, because he was completely dumbfounded. Pressing a forefinger between her brows to stop the migraine that threatened, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“Okay. So I’ve got a plan.”

“Does the plan involve staying here and waiting for the Grand Old Man to take his nap before we strike?”

“Sorry?”

Ed smirked. “I thought saying ‘sorry’ was one of his rules.”

“No, that’s when it’s revealing your weakness. This is more about me needing you to repeat what you just said, because I’m really hoping I heard wrong.”

“‘Grand Old Man’? It means-”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what it means. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re an asshole or just stupid.” She tilted her head back and forth, as if contemplating a third option. “Or both.” 

When her hand reached into her pocket, his eyes went wide and his hand covered his light. “Hey, now. I’m not the killer. You know it. I know it. And I’m pretty sure you’re not the killer. So why don’t we work together? A week off work sounds pretty good, huh? C’mon.”

She pursed her lips, pretending to ponder the idea. “That’s the thing about people, Ed. Sometimes, you just don’t know. I mean, I do this for a living, but people never fail to surprise me.” With each word, she took a step closer. “You know what to do if you and your friend are being chased by a bear?”

His head pulled back in confusion. “Being chased by a bear? What?”

“You trip your friend.” She reached out and slapped his hand, effectively turning off his light and eliminating him from the exercise. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and while he struggled to find words, she said, “Thing is, you’re right- if we were out in the field, this might have played out differently. But in the meantime, _Ground Pounder_ , you’re heavier than the gear I had to drag around Afghanistan. Off you go.”

He finally found enough voice to say, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Is this the face of someone who’s kidding?”

With his hand still over his arm as if he’d been shot, he stumbled out the room, still trying to decipher what had happened. She didn’t wait to see him leave before she turned out the lights and plotted her next move.

…..

He hadn’t found it hard to eliminate the competition, one by one, mainly by using the momentary element of surprise and the fact that most people just didn’t pay attention. That, and the fact that the laser pointer was surprisingly accurate in its range and aim. Like shooting fish in a barrel. He had only hesitated once, and that was with the young ex-Marine from Sloane’s team. The kid was so affable that he gave him an apologetic shrug before slapping his arm. Now, he had one less to worry about as he watched Mr. Clipped Wings sulk his way out of the room and down the hall. Inside the closet that was pressed against the adjoining wall, he’d nearly given himself away when he heard Jack drop the ‘Ground Pounder’ line; she had said it with such disdain that he almost burst with pride. The way she had defended his honour sent signals of a whole other kind through him, and he allowed himself the smallest moment to let his mind wander to his reward; the Army Greens and the woman in them. 

Suddenly, the lights went out.

“Well played,” he whispered, knowing she was trying to level the playing field, even if she didn’t know exactly where he was. Functioning in the dark reduced his ability to lay a trap for her, and he mentally slapped his head for losing his focus.

Even if the reason was a pretty damn good one.

He grinned, then got down to business.

…..

She had turned off all the lights on her way down the hall, but he had locked all the adjoining doors in his pursuit, so there would be no way for her to double-back and catch him from behind. He stayed low and silent, his loafers noiseless on the carpet, his breath almost nonexistent. He cleared every room until there were only three remaining, one on his left and two on his right. While he pondered his choices, a movement to his left made his decision for him. The room wasn’t entirely dark; a faint light outlined the blind that covered the small window. With that light, he saw a shadow on the far side of the room. Lifting his laser, but not yet turning it on, he couldn’t help but break the silence while his peripheral vision tried to maximize his night vision.

“Ya know, if you wanted to see me in my blues, all ya had to do was ask.”

A voice whispered unexpectedly in his ear. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

He felt the kiss under his ear the same time her hand slapped his arm. It was when she moved to turn on the light that he saw his mistake- a small mirror across the room had reflected her image from a different angle than he had assumed. It was a well-played gambit. She all but squealed in delight, and he was secretly pleased. Still, he growled, “Shit.”

“Time to pay the Piper, Cowboy,” she playfully taunted. “I’ll be sporting and give you to the end of the month.” 

He could still hear her laughing in delight all the way down the hall.

…..

“Hey, Gibbs. I was thinking about that Desmond case and-” Bishop stopped dead in her tracks.

Gibbs looked up from his couch, the boot brush stopping mid-stroke. “You gonna finish that sentence or just stand there and gawk all night?”

“I think I’ll just stand here and gawk.” Pretending not to notice his glare, she slowly made her way to the uniform that hung on a nail in the doorway to the kitchen. Her fingers gently traced over the ribbons on the left breast. “Wow.” 

His reply was a grumble and a return to his boot shine.

His lack of response didn’t deter her. “There are a lot of ribbons here.”

“Mmmm. Most of ‘em are participation threads.” He glanced up at her questioning look. “You know, for showin’ up.”

She tapped the first one on the left of the more than dozen ribbons. “Yeah. I’ve heard they give out Silver Stars just for attendance.”

The brush stopped again. He was surprised she’d recognize the red, white and blue ribbon. Hiding his reaction, he blandly said, “Most people wanna talk about the Purple Heart.”

She hummed her agreement. “Sure. But ‘"Gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States’? That’s something special.” 

There was no hiding his reaction now. “How’d you know that?”

Shrugging as if random facts just casually lived in her head, she replied, “I may have done a bit of digging on my boss before actually getting the job. I had this amazing blueberry crumble muffin.”

“You vetted me?”

“No.” She dragged out the word and the denial. “I just thought, as a good investigator, that it would be a good idea to find out about the people I work with. Starting with you.”

He nodded. “So what did you learn about McGee?”

“Oh, nothing,” she confessed. “I’m still learning about you.”

“Right,” he chuckled, returning to his job.

“What’s this one?”

He squinted in the low light. “Southwest Asia Service.”

“And this one?”

“Marine Corps Good Conduct.”

“And this?”

“Are you gonna ask me to name ‘em all?”

She grinned, young and honest. “I just wanted to see how many I could make you name.” She touched the last one in the first row. “Navy and Marine Corps Commendation. With 2 stars.” She moved down to the second row. “Combat Action. Navy Unit Commendation.”

“Are _you_ gonna name ‘em all?” 

Rather than reply, she stepped back to admire the uniform in its entirety. “So you’re really going to come through on that bet with Sloane.”

The brush began its soft whisking once more. “She tell you about it?”

Ellie shook her head. “No. She wouldn’tve done that.” 

If he had thought about it, he would’ve known the answer before asking. He knew Jack, and regardless of her joy at winning, she’d never publicly put him on the spot. Her victory would be a private one, and he suspected she was more than happy to keep it that way. 

“Vance,” he said, by process of elimination. There was only one other person in the room when the wager was made. 

“I inadvertently overheard him mentioning it to Jack,” she quickly clarified. “I’m sure he didn’t mean for anyone to hear.”

He nodded in agreement. Like Jack, while Leon might have gotten more than a bit of enjoyment out of his predicament, his ribbing would only ever take place in private. Ad infinitum, but still, in private.

“I haven’t said anything. I wouldn’t.”

His soft smile instantly forgave her. “I know. Won’t be much of a secret, anyhow.”

She sauntered over to the couch and sat beside him. Giving him a side look, she guessed, “Are you showing up to work in your uniform?”

He shrugged like it was something he did every day. “Not gonna sneak over to her house. Guess I could ask her to come here.” Flicking some water on the boot, he shrugged again. “Guess I just figured I’d get it over with.”

His words made her frown. “Does it bother you that much? To put on the uniform?”

“Nah, it’s not the uniform. It’s just a part of me that’s been over for a long, long time. Not one to live too much in the past.”

She put her hand on her chest. “Shocked, I tell you. Shocked.” Ignoring his glare, she nudged his shoulder. “Well, I for one can’t wait to see you. And you don’t have to live in the past to acknowledge it. You carry that with you every day. In the best possible way.”

Her maturity and wisdom took him by surprise and he didn’t know how to respond. She seemed to recognize it, because she tilted her chin at the boot on his left hand. “Wanna show me how you do that? We’ll get both done quicker.”

He appreciated the diversion and his smile conveyed his thanks. Handing her the other boot, he said, “First, put the boot on your hand, like this. Then, you set the polish on fire.”

Her eyes lit up, both at the display and the moment she was getting to share with him.

…..

If anyone had any thoughts about saying anything, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves, though Torres and McGee swivelled their heads in Ellie’s direction, mouths agape. She watched Gibbs ascend the stairs, crisp and sharp and confident, and she swelled with pride. Though he didn’t make eye contact, she caught a small smirk, and she thought about how good it felt to be a co-conspirator. He’d no doubt tell her she earned it- Jethro Gibbs gave nothing for free- but she had no problem calling it a privilege. She glanced down at the traces of boot polish that had washed to gray and smiled.

…..

It was his custom to walk right into her office, but finding the door closed, he announced his presence with a sharp rap on the wood. 

“Come in.”

He was ready to stand in silence, expecting her regular chattiness to make way for the silence of surprise, but it was he who got caught out by what he saw. One step into the room and he jerked to a stop. Covering his reaction only half-well, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Jack?”

As only he could do it, the one word said a hundred, which was a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could find the rest of the words required to describe the heat that suddenly found itself coursing through his body nor the images that decided to flash through his brain. Sitting in her seat was one First Lieutenant Jacqueline Sloane, in full ASU, company greens, just like he had asked. Hair done up in a regulation knot, black beret placed neatly on her desk to her left. He tried to sneak a peek at her legs, but the desk confounded his curiosity. She satisfied both their needs for a better look by pushing her chair back and coming around the desk.

“Wow.”

He grinned, happy to know he wasn’t the only one reduced to a single word. Part of him was mildly disappointed to be denied a glimpse of her calves, but there was something about her in the pants that did its own number on his libido. Lifting his eyes to meet hers, he realized he was caught out and simply shrugged. It was pointless to deny the obvious.

“As much as I’m enjoyin’ the sights, Lieutenant Sloane, I gotta ask.”

“Why am I in my greens?” His head tilt encouraged her to go on. “You haven’t checked your e-mails this morning, have you, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs? HR has revoked my victory. I lost. Something about me killing an innocent civilian.”

Gibbs lowered his chin and laughed. “GP ratted you out?”

“Yep. Asshole.”

“Normally, I’d agree.” He gave her another once over. “Kinda hard to complain, though.”

She slapped him in the middle of his chest. “Well, all things considered, I’m glad you didn't read your e-mail.” Her hand paused as it reached to touch his ribbons. “May I?”

He nodded. “If you’re not sure what some of ‘em are, just ask Bishop,” he said in an attempt to cover the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.

Her laugh was warm and full. “She so looks up to you, you know?” His grunt did nothing to dissuade her from saying, “A lot of people do. In or out of the uniform.” Before the moment got too heavy, she nonchalantly added, “Besides, most of the stuff after the first row are just participation awards.”

He wasn’t sure he had ever been with a woman who could make him laugh as much as she did. 

“Ya wanna compare medals sometime?”

Her eyebrow arched in playfulness. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” When he lowered his head to laugh again, she peeked around his ears. “You cut your hair.”

“Nope. Bishop cut my hair. Said it was an inch longer than regulation. She _measured_.”

Jack’s head bobbed in delight. “Of course she did.”

“Anyway, she had scissors in her hand. Learned not to argue with a woman with scissors.”

“Ouch,” she replied, wondering what particular experience taught him that lesson. “Well, it’ll grow back.”

“That’s what she told me, right after she said ‘Oops’.”

After her laughter subsided, she said, “I guess I’ll bring that whiskey over after work?”

“If you want.”

“In my greens?”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from running a covetous trail down to her feet and back up again. “If you want,” he repeated, his voice like honey over sandpaper.

She stopped herself from asking what _he_ wanted; his eyes gave her every answer she needed. He turned his head to watch her slowly step behind him, but he didn’t move. Taking the same position she had in that darkened room where she had gotten the jump on him, she raised herself on the balls of her feet and whispered into his ear.

“You told me if I wanted to see you in your blues, all I had to do was ask.”

His clenched jaw was the only indication he was reacting to her breath, hot against his skin, her lips tickling his ear. “Yep.”

“So what do I have to do to get you out of them?”

Suddenly, everything felt too tight, from his pants to his shirt to his collar. Hoping he sounded more assured than he felt, he said, “Bring that whiskey. Wear whatever you want.”

She wasn’t exactly expecting an answer, and definitely not one so honest. “Wow,” she said for the second time. Now she had a million questions and his eyes were giving away nothing. “I see. So, are you heading home to change?”

He didn’t call her out on the change of subject. Instead, he shook his head. “Nah. Figured I’d walk around the office for a bit. Make Torres’ eyes bug out more.”

“You know you’ll be the talk of the bullpen.”

Tilting his head back and forth at the thought, he shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes sacrifices gotta be made.”

She could tell by his look that he wasn’t talking about Torres. Returning to her desk, she casually suggested, “If you wanted to see me in my greens, all you had to do was ask.” She had contemplated asking him if she could take a picture, but again, knew the answer before asking. Seeing him now, his smile broad, wide and infectious, standing tall and proud and handsome, she knew a photo would never have done him justice. Burning the image into her memory, she winked, pointed and said, “I’ll see you at 6. With the whiskey.” She took only a second to glance down at her paperwork when he said her name.

“Lieutenant Sloane.”

Her gaze rose and she wondered if it wasn’t too late to change her mind about that picture, because with shoulders back, cover on and eyes on hers, he sharply raised his hand to his eyebrow, held it for a beat, then snapped it back down. His blues, his eyes and his grin were gone before she found the breath to do anything other than murmur a sigh.

“Damn Jarhead,” she whispered.

…..

-end


End file.
